


an in-depth look into peter parker's psyche

by Spirit_Wolf



Series: peter parker be hurtin' [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has PTSD, Peter Parker-centric, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, all characters except peter are just mentioned, its not that bad i promise, teen rating for the contents of the nightmare, the relationships are vaguely there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29035401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spirit_Wolf/pseuds/Spirit_Wolf
Summary: And as he lays on his bed - sheets tangled around his ankles, comforter on the floor, sweat dampening his skin, sucking in shallow breaths that force their way past his trachea with a wheeze - he gets why no one would want to acknowledge this.orPeter Parker has nightmares.
Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: peter parker be hurtin' [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569169
Kudos: 33





	an in-depth look into peter parker's psyche

Peter mastered the art of functioning with minimal sleep way before the spider bite, and he continued to practice it after the spider bite. He would almost call his terrible sleeping habits a personality trait, given that the aching tiredness behind his eyes and bone weary exhaustion that weighs heavily in his shoulders and drags his feet into the floor like concrete shoes is a staple in his humor and appearance. 

People notice, though not many care since most are also dealing with the effects of too many pages of homework and the stress that lingers long after you’ve left the school building. Peter notices exhaustion in other people, so he knows people see it on him. And before, he was also just staying up too late, meeting deadlines and finishing procrastinated math problems, but now.  _ Now _ . 

Sleepless nights are a product of avoidance. Avoidance that stems from fear of waking up again, fear of not waking up again, fear of the shadows that lurk in the thick bone of his skull, and fear of the images that his brain has stored despite all of his attempts to get them out. His late-night study sessions are no longer about passing the next exam, or excelling in every class in hopes of the distance dream that is MIT. How he wishes they were. 

Nightmares are a plague among superheroes -  _ contagious _ things,  _ dangerous _ things. Steve talked about it once, in an interview that surprisingly steered clear of his muscles and dating rumors. He brushed the question off quickly, leaving the magazine with, “nightmares are just part of the job.” But it’s not like no one knew that. No one  _ expects _ them to be fine and dandy after being splattered with alien guts or coming home every week with 20+ added points to their personal kill count. Everyone knows that being a hero isn’t glamorous,  _ somewhere _ inside their head, they  _ know _ that. It’s just much more comfortable to accept that hero means worship and riches and interviews where you get asked if you're dating one of the most beautiful women in New York, because that's  _ plausible _ . 

Because it’s uncomfortable to think that a bed feels more like laying down in a coffin, that falling asleep is a descent into a grave, that dreams of saving your city aren’t what you see when the dirt falls over your eyes. Peter understands. It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge that your heroes are weak when the sun isn’t gleaming off of shields and hair and armour. It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge that the moon makes everything a little more gaunt and pale, draws the shadows out a little longer. 

And as he lays on his bed - sheets tangled around his ankles, comforter on the floor, sweat dampening his skin, sucking in shallow breaths that force their way past his trachea with a wheeze - he gets why no one would want to acknowledge this. 

His shoulder flares with a sharp pain, fire scorches the left side of his body, sand clings to sweaty hair. 

He opens his eyes again. 

The moon is barely visible through his window, a waning crescent, foggy with pollution and clouds. He sucks in a breath that rattles his lungs and breathes out until it hurts. Tears barely gather against his waterline, dare to start the descent down his eyelashes. He blinks. Green lights and metal wings flash almost lazily behind his eyelids. It’s hell. 

Somewhere in the distance, a horn honks. Further away, a baby wails. Peter wants to cry alongside them. He presses the heel of his palms against his eyes instead, forcing away the images with static. He breathes again. 

It’s so loud inside his head. Loud with the sound of water engulfing him, of wind rushing past his ears, waves crashing against the beach, repulsors and so many voices talking down to him. It’s so loud in his head and so quiet outside of it. 

Peter Parker, at sixteen, has learned to live with nightmares that scare away the hope of sleep with gaping jaws and claws that scratch at his brain until he’s got nothing left to fight with. 

Peter Parker - despite the hopelessness, the loud and the quiet battling from between his ears and everywhere else, the deep hole at the very center of his sternum - will get up in the next few hours and get ready for the day. He’ll go to school and won’t sleep in any of his classes - the fear of waking up sobbing preventing it, the fear of failing close behind. He’ll walk out of school, walk home, put the suit on and swing out the window a hero. He won’t sleep tonight, like he didn’t sleep last night, and he will risk adding on to the mountain of content that his brain has against him. 

Because that’s what heroes do. 

***

It’s dark. It’s always so _dark_. Of course, his brain knows that taking away his sight is a strategy that will always put Peter off. 

It’s dark and there are sounds, muddled and clear and distant and right next to him. There’s the whirring of an engineering marvel, the buzzing of electricity. Rubble tumbling down to land on the ground with dull thuds. His web-shooters clicking as there are no more cartridges left. Screams echoing off of concrete. The ocean. 

There are faces gathering around him. He’s laying down. Hot sand scorches his feverish skin, fire crackles nearby. Ned is laying next to him. He can’t see him but he knows he’s there, bleeding, barely breathing. Tony is drifting in slow circles around him, the clang of metal boots piercing his skull despite the sand and the dress shoes that he’s got on. May isn’t here. Vulture is. He’s more bird-like then he was, less machine and more flesh and bone. Feathers scatter around him, swirling into the snarling flames. 

“Peter.” 

Peter doesn't know who says it, but he snaps his head to the side, breathing heavily. There’s no one there. 

A shadow looms over him. 

There’s no one there. 

“Peter.” 

Tony. 

Peter looks back, a sky full of stars greets him. Burning feathers swirl and fall. Tony stands at his feet. “Mr. Stark,” he says back. His voice wobbles uncontrollably. Tony kicks at his leg, not gently but not un-gently either. It feels like the boot of the Ironman armour but Tony is still in his suit and tie and dress shoes. “Mr. Stark, help. Help me, please.” 

“Mr. Stark, help. Help me, please,” a voice whines mockingly next to his ear. Peter flinches away from the Vulture. Wings whir dangerously behind him. 

Ned is still beside him. Not moving. Not breathing. Panic suddenly seizes his chest, more than before. 

“ _No_.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Vulture hisses. Hot breath wafts over Peter’s cheek and he flinches away, heart thundering as it suddenly gets darker. As Ned doesn't move. Peter looks from Tony to his friend then back again. Tony shrugs, mouth pressed into a thin line. An emotion Peter can’t identify crosses Tony’s face. An emotion Peter can’t describe floods his chest. 

The blade-sharp tip of a wing pierces his shoulder. 

There’s an echoing laugh. 

The ocean rises, the fire crackles. A single clap of thunder _booms_. 

Peter _screams_. 

Peter wakes up and goes to school. 

  
  



End file.
